Saturday, July 31, 2010

Wow, really? Really? How did nobody's offensiveness radar go off when you named a nail polish after a race of people, colored it to approximate their skin tone, and then asked to possess them? Follow-up question: if you have a white nail polish, do you need to keep this one next to it at all times so that you don't wake up one day to find your white polish bottle lying mysteriously broken underneath a tiny little pillow? In this case, I think OPI named neither wisely nor too well.

Granted, it is conceivably possible that OPI was going with another definition of "moor" (although not likely, seeing as this comes from the "Espana" collection). If we are talking about land forms, though, a moor is about as unpleasant and useless as you can get. Does whoever named this really want a desolate, infertile, and somewhat soggy piece of English countryside? Nor does swapping from "Moor" to "moor" really improve the romantic connotations in either healthiness or happy endingness.

Let's just agree to cut our losses and stick with the verb, then, shall we? I'll moor you to whatever you want. Just promise to stay there.

Monday, July 5, 2010

1) A scented candle used in a hunting lodge2) The mildly scandalous gossip column on the back page of a Massachusetts preparatory school newspaper3) The cologne dabbed behind the ear of an ever-so-smooth 46-year-old gentleman as he prepares to head out to the local bar with all the temptingly tipsy co-eds4) An exotic blend of seven different kinds of pepper that you buy at Williams Sonoma because it's only $8.95 and you just know it will give your arugula salad that little extra something, but no matter how hard you strain your taste buds, it just tastes like regular pepper, and then you realize that you don't even like arugula5) The racy series of novels that results when the Sweet Valley twins grow up to find that the Unicorn Club has developed into a prostitution ring...but can Elizabeth's journalistic skills save the day?

(suggested by Gillian)

This nail polish, however, is none of these things. Nor is it remotely near the color of a deer, a valley, or any spice found in nature. In fact, the only image that comes into my head when I try to associate this shade with deer-filled valleys is of a woman with avaricious pink claws stroking the pelt of Bambi's mother, trying to decide whether she will have it made into a coat or a stole. I guess this is, after all, somewhat fitting. When it comes to both Bambi and names like this, the real enemy is Man.